


Kiriya x Cullen Kisses

by ninemoons42



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition - Kiriya - Original Flavor [16]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Dancing, Established Relationship, F/M, Fighting Side by Side, Heterosexual Sex, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Introspection, Kissing, Training, Tumblr Memes, Vaginal Sex, kiss meme, nameday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Cullen x Trevelyan fics with prompts taken from <a href="http://ninemoons42-inquisition.tumblr.com/post/130547907498/kiss-meme">HERE</a>. I'm going to try and keep this within the bounds of the Kiriya Trevelyan stories if I can -- I'll mark the chapter otherwise if it turns out to be set in an AU or something. </p><p>[I'll try to tag the pieces in general with everything that applies, partly to show how I approach the individual themes and partly to cover as many trigger warnings as possible. If I miss anything, please let me know and I'll do everything I can to tag accordingly.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1 - “Good morning” kiss

Hoarse cries, just overhead, and the whirling shadows of night-dark wings. He’d long since gotten inured to the presence of the messenger birds but, every now and then when his limbs ached from too much sitting and too little sleep and too many missed meals, they could wake him up at all the wrong hours.

This current argument -- it sounded like several birds were having some kind of animated discussion just overhead -- had already woken him up three times, and it was probably well past time for him to give in to the inevitable.

It was too Void-taken early in the morning -- early enough that all he could see of dawn was a faint pink light staining the farthest slopes of the Frostbacks. 

Cullen groped for the shirt he’d discarded the previous night and sniffed at its collar. Salt and sweat and, if he really thought about it, the faint traces of flower-scented wine and the sulfur-stench of snuffed candles. What had he been doing last night -- he blinked, and remembered.

_The desk he was facing was not his but it was familiar all the same: a smattering of crumbs, one or two empty bowls, a ragged sentinel-line of empty ink bottles, an empty bottle of wine and a wooden cup, and piles upon piles of correspondence._

_The difference was the woman holding the pen -- otherwise he might have been looking at himself as he fought against the never-ending avalanche of documents -- that included the quiet muttering, mostly not-quite-under-her-breath obscenities, and the strands of hair falling haphazardly every which way._

_As he watched, Kiriya yawned, sighed, and initialed a letter, then folded it back into thirds and passed it to him. “Could I perhaps trouble you,” she said, pushing herself wearily up from her chair, “to look that over one more time before sending it out? They follow my orders -- but they’re your soldiers. If you have any better ideas by all means cross mine out. You know them better than I do.”_

_He saw, and said nothing about, the tremble in her inkstained fingers; he merely nodded, and offered her his arm._

_“Thank you,” she said as she blew out the last few candles. “But -- I’ve lost track of the time. Again. I really am sorry for keeping you up.”_

_He laid his cheek gently against her tangled hair. “I didn’t mind. Really. But now -- ”_

_“Now rest,” she said. “Yes. I know. And so should you. I’d invite you to stay but -- ”_

_He shook his head and watched her fall face-first into her pillows. “I know. I understand. I’ll still see you later, right?” he said as he spread a thin blanket over her._

_“Dragons and Archdemons couldn’t keep me away,” Kiriya said, and then she smiled, and closed her eyes. Soon she was asleep._

_Before tiptoeing away he smoothed his hand over her shoulder, and thought she leaned happily into his touch._

Now he groaned quietly and put that shirt back on. Clumsy fingers working at his sword-belt. Trousers and boots and -- as a concession to the crisp near-morning -- a thick scarf around his neck. 

One or two of the night patrols saluted him as he headed down to the practice grounds, but otherwise he didn’t see a soul. Dark windows and closed doors everywhere he looked. He could almost be envious of everyone else still lying slug-a-bed.

He wished it were him.

Cold crept up into his boots and pierced his fingertips as he stepped up to a practice dummy and tried to center himself. He could say the Chant of Light in his sleep -- had done so once or twice that he wasn’t about to tell anyone any time soon -- but this morning it only left him mumbling, gracelessly, rote words falling from his lips. 

Instead he thought of Kiriya in this same court. The swift blinding lines of her blades as she danced through her forms. She was never still when she was practicing -- she was always on the move, always slashing and striking and blocking and twirling away. On guard and always certain, blurred footsteps and rapidfire arcs. 

The world and the cold and the cries of the birds fell away from him. The itch on the back of his neck and the self-consciousness that he nearly always carried around with him when his hair corkscrewed into its usual curls. The moan of the wind and the flickering flames in the nearby lanterns.

Cullen took a grateful breath, clean air filling him up, and sprang into action. He was the blade in his hand: every movement done well, every strike falling true, every step landing right. His mind was the bright edge of the blade, painstakingly honed, viciously sharp. Brandishing the sword, he felt the weariness fall from his shoulders; advancing on an invisible foe, he could, for a moment, forget the needy burning in his veins and the scorched memories in his mind.

Skyhold itself fell away from him as he stepped and slashed and dodged his opponents and all he could hear was the simple and clean rush of blood in his veins -- and that was peace, maybe, until he began to slow down, until it was time for him to move into the salute at the end of the exercise.

When he opened his eyes the court was bathed in rising golden light.

And he was not alone.

The blanket around her shoulders was familiar. The smile on her face was something he lived for. The spark in her eyes pulled him to her, unerring. 

“Good morning,” Kiriya whispered, just against his mouth -- and Cullen closed his eyes and put his arms around her and bent his head to hers. Slanted his mouth over hers. A darting tease of teeth and tongue. A playful nip. 

“Good morning,” he said, when they finally pulled away from each other. He was pleased to see the color splashed across her cheeks.


	2. 2 - Kiss on the forehead

_Inquisitor,_ they called her.

_Herald._

_Demon._

_Whore._

And so on and so on down the list, a deteriorating litany, the words written in haunted red, and sometimes when she walked down some rutted little road or another she had the terrible urge to look back at her own footsteps. The terrible urge to check that blood was not running behind her, trailing from her, marking where she’d been and marking where she was heading.

In the temporary safety of the light cloth hood that she’d pulled up to protect her head from the smoky whispering rain, Kiriya gritted her teeth and fought to leave the words behind.

And then there was the Anchor. That blasted mark on her hand. The pain came and went and lurked in her skin. It left her nerves a knotted and snarled mess and added to the tension spiking in her arms and shoulders, in her hands and feet. She shivered all the time, though the verdant forest all around shielded them from the sun and kept the underbrush cool. She shook all the time, and took pains to conceal that shaking from the others.

The others. Maker bless them. They had to know. Very little got past Iron Bull. Cassandra ought to know about her stifled tears. 

Vivienne?

The woman chasséd regally through puddles and fallen leaves and the occasional patch of mud and never looked anything less than imperial.

Movement, up ahead.

Kiriya held up her fist and heard the others stop; she moved her fist in a circular motion and dropped to hands and knees. Forward, along a line of straggling bush, through a swaying curtain of dark purple vines; silence and stealth until she smelled blood in the air and caught sight of a crackling fire.

A fire on top of a rock -- no sign of kindling -- and she’d seen those entwined snakes before.

Back to the others for a whispered conference: “Venatori,” she hissed, to nods from Cassandra and Iron Bull and a frown from Vivienne. “Small camp. Half a dozen, not more than ten.”

“Barriers,” Vivienne said. 

Kiriya passed her a string of lyrium potions and quietly unsheathed her knives. “They’ve got a fire burning and one person watching the camp. Wait for me to take that sentry out, then we’ll wait in ambush for the rest to come running.”

“Be careful, Boss,” Iron Bull muttered.

Kiriya tried to throw him a smile. 

By the look on Cassandra’s face, it didn’t work.

She put them out of her mind -- she put the pain of the Anchor out of her mind -- and she thought of her knives in her hands, her steady companions; she thought of her feet in this forest, swift and silent and sure; and fleetingly -- she thought of warmth. Sincerity. Gentleness. A polished breastplate and hands that were always careful, even when they were shaking.

Briefly she touched her fingertips to her lips and thought of a kiss, a flame burning in her heart, and then -- forward.

All it took was the sentry peering, rattled and restless, in the wrong direction.

Kiriya grinned a wolfish grin and pounced, and the woman was on the ground instantly, one clean slash from ear to ear, her blood deep crimson against the grass.

The others crept in after her, crouched and ready and waiting -- 

Sounds of battle! Nowhere nearby -- 

“Kiriya,” Cassandra said, pointing into the trees. 

She followed the Seeker down that path, hands tightening steadily on her knives with each step -- 

“I think I know this area,” Cassandra whispered.

“As do I,” Kiriya said. “Camps. Our camps.”

“The Venatori,” they said, together.

“Go back to the others,” Kiriya added. “Our soldiers might need the help.”

“And you?”

Kiriya just smiled.

“Foolish,” Cassandra muttered -- but she turned back in any case. 

No need to be quiet now.

Kiriya cried out, and the trees threw her voice back at her in distorted echoes, and she rolled into the nearest clearing and the nearest set of opponents, slashing at hamstrings until she could get back to her feet and drive her blades into the backs of their necks. Blood on her hands, hot spray into her face, her enemies falling before her -- and the others coming in hot on her heels: Iron Bull bellowing and Cassandra cleaving and the flash of Vivienne’s sword -- 

“Hold! -- Inquisitor!”

That voice! She knew that voice! 

What was he doing here?

She swiped blood away from her cheeks and looked up.

“Cullen,” Cassandra said. “What in the name of the Maker are you doing here?”

“Red Templar activity -- I was asked to come down and sweep for them -- I assume you killed the backup?” It really was him, Kiriya thought, and she thought she might laugh. Weeks away from him and now this. Bandages peeking out of his armor and blood dripping down the length of his sword. What a sight she must look to him, unwashed and bloodied and exhausted -- 

“Backup?” Vivienne said. “One foolish little chit. Not at all worth my time. But she’s a corpse now if you wanted to investigate.”

“You all right there, Boss,” Iron Bull said as he stepped up to Kiriya’s side.

“I’m -- going to sit down for a moment,” Kiriya said, and did so, and then Cullen was getting down on one knee before her. She reached out to him with the back of her hand. There was blood on her fingertips. No point in marring his face.

“You’re a sight,” he said, gently.

“Yes. A terrible one.”

“Not to me.” And Cullen was drawing closer -- she looked away -- 

His kiss was warm and sweet and welcome. Lingering on her forehead. “I missed you,” he said.


	3. 3 - Drunk / sloppy kiss

Flash of gold and black in the periphery of his vision, a bright smile, and the clink of glass upon glass, and Cullen blinked and looked up from his solitary dinner to see Josephine hurrying his way.

“Oh, Cullen, I’m surprised to see you here -- didn’t you get the note?” Breathless words and her hair tumbling away from its pins. 

He frowned, and shook his head. “Note?”

“Did you lose it on your desk? No matter. Come with me,” she said, and when she offered her arm he took it on sheer reflex. “It’s Leliana’s nameday tomorrow, and we’re having a small party for her at the Herald’s Rest. She’d be quite put out if you were missing.”

Cullen blinked at her words, and at the crisp evening air, as they emerged into one of Skyhold’s many courtyards. “Leliana’s nameday,” he said thoughtfully, trying to keep pace with Josephine’s skipping steps. “I hadn’t thought -- ”

“Well, now you know,” she said, the words interlaced with her musical laugh. “Now remember mine’s in the spring, and I quite like flowers.”

“I -- I’ll make sure not to forget -- ” And then the door into the tavern swung wide open, and the scene within took away the rest of his words.

Tables and chairs pushed aside to create a cramped almost-square in the center of the common room, and the strains of a lively reel: Maryden and some of the Chargers were gathered in a tight knot in the corner nearest the bar, all hard at work on their respective instruments. He could see Blackwell and Krem pounding on one of the tables, helping to set the beat; and Cole was smiling into the depths of his glass.

“Josie!” And here was Leliana herself, her cowl fallen away for once, extending an arm to her friend -- and Josephine thrust the bottles into his chest before seizing her friend and whirling her around in a circle.

Varric and Dorian called encouragement to the two women, who bowed and twirled and clapped their hands in intricate rhythms.

Cullen made his way towards the others, unable to take his eyes off the women. Such an unexpected thing, to see them caught up recklessly in such bright brilliant music. Leliana’s musical laughter and the teasing look in Josephine’s eyes -- then he blinked and laughed because she was leading Leliana through more and more complicated patterns, until Leliana finally stumbled and came to an abrupt stop.

“Sly woman!” he heard her laugh, tugging on a lock of Josephine’s undone hair. “You did that on purpose!”

“I always was better at dancing,” Josephine laughed back.

“I shall have my revenge,” Leliana said -- and then there was a resounding CRASH from overhead, that set the bottles scattered throughout the tavern shaking.

“You bloody pickpocket, give that back or I’ll pull your guts out through your nose!”

“That might hurt,” Varric observed, dryly. “Who wants to watch?”

Cullen snorted as Blackwall, Dorian, and Iron Bull all pretended to drop coins into Varric’s outstretched hand.

Heavy footsteps down the stairs -- something red and blonde-tousled and grinning flashed past -- he caught a one-fingered salute and the words “Gotta catch me first, ya slow cow!”

“Who’re you calling a cow?!”

And then the music stopped dead.

Cullen supposed he couldn’t blame the Chargers.

Because Kiriya had leapt to the bottom of the stairs and she was neither in her armor nor the beige leathers she occasionally wore around Skyhold.

No, the Kiriya who was side-stepping him and snatching at the back of Sera’s collar was dressed in diaphanous white and blue-outlined flowers. Intricate strings crisscrossing her back and shoulders. The flash of her bared legs and un-slippered feet and her dark hair flying every which way, the way her short skirts did.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iron Bull grin at Krem -- who rolled his eyes and pounded on the table again, a fast-paced beat. The lilting teasing dance of a flute and Maryden plucking rapidly at her strings.

He caught Kiriya’s eyes for an instant -- unnatural bright flush in her cheeks -- and she mouthed “Help me!”, and he had no idea what to do -- 

And that was when Sera grabbed him by his coat and started whirling him around -- where’d her strength come from, he thought, dizzily, and it was too late when he realized that she was using him as a shield against Kiriya -- nothing to do but hold his hand out to the Inquisitor and hope she’d get him out of this mess -- 

The music spun around them, higher and faster and more and more urgent -- 

Kiriya’s fingertips, five points of fiery heat even through the material of his glove -- he watched her spin right into his arms, watched her kick her heels up as though she were still following the melody -- and then she was grinning and pulling him along with her, and her other hand was now holding on to -- was that her favorite holdout knife?

He could only try to keep up with the steps of the dance, with Kiriya moving like white flame -- and when the music crashed to a stop and to raucous applause he was still left dazed and punch-drunk, the room spinning around him -- until Kiriya put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him. Flower-scented wine and something else, something even more potent, sweet and hot on her breath.

“It should be your nameday every day,” he vaguely heard Josephine giggle, presumably in Leliana’s direction.

He was too focused on kissing Kiriya back.


	4. 4 - Awkward kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and subsequent chapters are set after the story [kith and kin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4958578).

There were footsteps coming her way, and the clank of armor-joints, and a steady brisk pace, and Kiriya sighed and glared helplessly into the mug of tea that she’d managed to carry all the way down from her rooms to this cloistered inner part of Skyhold, and reluctantly prepared herself to face the messenger who had managed to track her down.

A sip of soothing warmth, sweet cream dissolving on her tongue and the bright earthy flavor of the leaves that had gone into her drink, and she turned around and blinked. “I was expecting someone else -- Katerinne?”

“The same,” was her sister’s reply. Parade rest, except for the parchments she was carrying in her right hand. “You seem to have made yourself well at home in this place -- took me a quarter of an hour to even begin to track you down.”

“Advantages of being unable to sleep -- I think I might already know about three-quarters of this place, and Josephine has even asked me to help map the other rooms that the rebuilders haven’t gotten to yet.” She accepted the sheaf and started flicking through the pages. “Tea? You can have the rest of mine.”

“No, thank you,” Katerinne said. “I don’t much like milk in my drinks. Puts me to sleep at the most inopportune of times.”

Kiriya slanted an amused glance at her sister. “Learned that the hard way, didn’t you.”

“You drift off in the middle of morning prayers, even the mages will laugh.” A rueful face. “Or try to goose you awake. Sometimes both.”

Kiriya snorted and sorted quickly through the papers, and handed a few sheets back. “Those are just for my review, you can tell whoever sent them that they’re all bad ideas and they should get to work immediately.” 

“Done,” Katerinne said, and started walking ahead.

Kiriya thought for a moment, then picked her tea up in the other hand and started following her. “By the way, will you allow me to satisfy my curiosity?”

“Certainly.”

“It’s not that I don’t like your company, but -- there are messengers all over Skyhold,” Kiriya said. “How come you ended up with the delivery?”

Was Katerinne rolling her eyes? “Everyone’s down in one of the practice courtyards,” she said, shortly. “That archery competition.”

“That was today?” Kiriya blinked and looked out the next window they passed. The window looked out on the Frostbacks and not any of the Skyhold courts. “I completely forgot all about it. I was going to bet on Sera.”

“If that’s the girl with the jar of bees on her belt, yes, she was shooting for the prize against your Leliana.”

Kiriya laughed. “So much for Sister Nightingale being an impartial judge!”

“I had a few coppers on Elisavet,” Katerinne said as they turned a corner and went down a flight of stairs, “but then your Grey Warden beat her in their round, so.”

“Blackwall,” Kiriya said. “He doesn’t often get a chance to use the bow. Elisavet’s an archer?”

“Don’t tell anyone I said so, but, well,” and Katerinne shrugged, “she really should just stick with her sword. She does her best and that’s about it, and she still misses about a quarter of the time.”

“More practice,” Kiriya decided -- then they passed a nearly empty corridor and she held up her hand. “Do you hear that? Like singing.”

“Like an Orlesian song of some kind.”

Kiriya smiled at her sister, then turned into the corridor, stealthy footsteps down the stone flags, and the music started and stopped in a bright chorus of laughter and familiar voices. “Let’s start over with that figure, shall we? And one, and two -- ”

“Kiriya!”

Her arms came up just in time, wrapping around a thin frame, warm and vital and humming with both the music and the energies of the Fade. “Hello, Cole,” she said, and squeezed him fondly before letting him go. “And this is my sister, Katerinne.” 

She watched as Cole stared Katerinne right in the eyes. “Proud. She’s so proud. Of you,” Cole pronounced, and squeezed her hand and pulled her into the room. “I found someone else to dance with,” she heard him announce.

“Inquisitor! So good to see you!” Bright happy tones. A neatly braided bun and freckles stippling her cheeks, laugh lines framing her words. 

“Scout Harding,” Kiriya said, and shook the offered hand. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything.”

“It’s just Lace in here,” was Scout Harding’s cheerful reply. “And no, it’s just the dance lesson -- I do them whenever I have a few hours to spare here in Skyhold. Would you like to stay? I remember you have that gathering in Halamshiral on your schedule.”

And between the hope in Cole’s face, the amusement in Katerinne’s, and the encouragement in Lace’s, there was nothing for it but to say, “I think I can try to keep up.” 

“Grand!” Lace clapped her hands together. “Maryden, let’s have that tune again!”

“Hello, Inquisitor,” Maryden said from her comfortable perch on a long wooden table that had been pushed to the side to make room for the dancers. “Let’s see what you remember.”

“I accept your challenge,” Kiriya said, grinning, and she took Cole’s hands and asked, “Wait, am I leading or are you?”

“I’ll follow,” Cole said.

“Good luck,” Katerinne said, wryly, as she sat down next to Maryden. 

She bowed to Cole and Cole bowed back, a little awkwardly, and then they fell right into the first few figures. Step to the side and hop together, step backwards and hop together, break away to clap hands and then a turn and a half, then back to the closed position -- Kiriya tried to smile, reassuringly, and decided to say nothing about the fact that Cole was very closely watching her feet. There’d be time to correct him later on -- she was more interested in really just _dancing_ , in remembering the flow of the steps and the notes, and she took Cole’s hand then to promenade down the length of the room.

“Good, good,” Lace called from the sidelines. “Next part is a little bit more difficult. Ready to go faster, Inquisitor?”

“It’s Kiriya if we’re dancing,” Kiriya said. “And -- yes, I think -- ”

“Splendid,” Maryden called, and she was already playing a brilliant and complicated melody to begin with -- now she began to sing, rhythmic and rapid, and Kiriya instinctively clicked her heels and executed a complicated twirl of a bow, watched Cole follow her movements -- and now they were tracing out squares as they rounded the makeshift dance floor, the two of them brushing fingertips and then whirling away, faster and faster -- 

Kiriya laughed, breathlessly, when the music finally crashed to a stop, to applause from the others in the room. 

“Well done!” Maryden said. “I’ve never seen anyone dance that to the end. Something you remember from when you were younger?”

“Something like that,” she said, as she clasped the hand that Cole offered her. “That was fine work.”

“I just followed what you were thinking,” he said, and was that a faint flush in his thin cheeks? Kiriya grinned and squeezed his hand and let go, and she was about to sit down next to Katerinne when -- 

“And you, lady Templar?” Maryden strummed a short phrase. “What dances do you know?”

“There’s one with a sword,” Katerinne said after a moment’s thought, and Kiriya squinted at her, trying to remember --

“Oh,” she said, “one of those Ostwick flings!”

“Still remember them, do you?” Katerinne asked as she got to her feet and drew her sword. A muted flash of light in the room that had no windows. 

“Aren’t we supposed to take turns?” Kiriya asked. “Then you go first; I need to catch my breath.”

The only answer to that was Katerinne laughing and then laying her bared blade on the stone floor -- then she nodded to Maryden, who struck up a quiet, mournful tune -- 

That then turned into something martial-flavored, intricate and darting and dark, and Kiriya watched as her sister danced around and over the blade, agile and athletic and unhindered by the armor that she was wearing -- 

There was a sound near the door, footsteps and cut-off words -- 

The melody kept going and Kiriya watched her sister’s feet move more and more quickly -- tracing out an intricate series of figures -- and she wondered if she could do the same, but the time for wondering was past because Katerinne was leaping away from the sword and was beckoning to her -- 

Kiriya jumped forward, hands already held over her head, and began to twirl and kick and spin -- 

She saw the crack in the floor just as she wedged her heel into it and there was only enough time for her to shriek, once, before the room started spinning crazily around her.

It was going to _hurt_ , she thought, when she hit the floor. Stone was known to be a bad place for skin and bones to land on.

Except that she never landed -- or instead she landed in someone’s arms. An upside-down face, an amused questioning smile, a familiar glint in honey-colored eyes. 

“Oooh, good catch,” Lace giggled, from somewhere off to the side.

The other sound she could hear: was that Cole laughing? 

“Dare I ask?” It was fascinating, she thought, to watch Cullen’s eyebrow hitch upward -- or was it downward from her currently unusual point of view?

“Dancing,” Kiriya said, and grinned.

“All right, don’t tell me,” he said, and then he kissed her, to the applause of the others.


	5. 5 - Angry kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and subsequent chapters are set after the story [kith and kin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4958578).

Fever, broken.

Breathing, easy. 

Heartbeat, steady.

She was here, and she was sleeping, and she had sighed softly in relief when he’d replaced the soft cloth on her head with one freshly wrung dry. Cool against the dark strands of her hair that trailed across the pillow.

She was here, and she was sleeping, and she was no longer twisting and turning in foul fever-dreams, was no longer crying out in her sleep.

She was here, and she was sleeping, where he could see her. Where he could take care of her -- give her her healing potions, help her sip cool water from the pitcher on the nearby table.

Alive. Well. 

So why was he so angry?

Cullen clenched his hands into fists and heard, again, the creaking protest of leather against his knuckles, against his fingertips. Torn between _needing_ to stay and _needing_ to do something else.

Because she was here and she had been poisoned and _this was Skyhold_. Where she was supposed to be safe.

He hissed a breath between gritted teeth and tried to put the story back together -- the story the others had told him.

 _I know she complains about the tea I make. She drinks it anyway._ Dorian, distraught and disheveled. _And it was the same pot, the same leaves, the same everything. That was what I thought. I normally take a sip from the first cup to prove there’s nothing wrong with the tea -- Tevinter manners, you see. Orlesians are not the only ones to do a brisk trade in poisonings -- but she was thirsty. I suppose she was. She took a drink and said it tasted like licking a bloody blade, and I told her off for her manners and -- then she just fell out of her chair._

 _No one was looking at the girl who brought the mage and my sister the water for the tea._ Marya Trevelyan, worrying at the edge of her crumpled coif. _I was only looking in her direction because I thought I’d ask her for some directions to the Templar barracks after she was done -- I hadn’t spoken to my sisters in a day or so -- but she left the water behind and started to run and I only had a moment to see Kiriya fall before I started screaming. Andraste’s name be blessed, there were people to hear me._

 _I didn’t see Kiriya fall, I just heard my sister, and I knew I had to do something._ Yelena Trevelyan, bandages on her fingers stained with dust and ink and thin lines of blood. _There was a mage in the rotunda below -- he caught the running girl in a barrier of some kind and he saw me, and he was calm and cold and he asked me to find people. He told me where I could find the First Enchanter. I think I interrupted what she was doing, but I explained the matter to her, and she swept off. Will she be all right? Please, she’ll be fine, right?_

 _I was brought to her side in time, and I have done what I can, but we must still watch over her._ Vivienne wore her usual steely expression -- but Cullen knew what he’d seen in her eyes: worry. _Poisons are difficult to deal with -- what might be an antidote for one might exacerbate the effects of another. We must identify the substance that was introduced into the water. And Commander, have a care: do we know if the Inquisitor was indeed the target? Or should we be protecting another?_

 _I’ll watch over Dorian. Me and the Chargers, we got him._ The Iron Bull. 

_She wants to wake up._ Cole. _She knows that you -- we -- worry for her._

“Cullen.”

He looked up and there was a familiar silhouette in the door. “We have to stop meeting like this, Skyhold might talk,” he said, wearily.

“This is no time for levity, Commander,” Cassandra said, the already thin line of her mouth pinched even further with worry. “And why are you still here? You were asked for in the cells half an hour ago. Leliana is making some progress.”

“Then she doesn’t need me.”

“You are deliberately not listening.” Cassandra’s scowl looked like it had been nailed into her face with worry and lingering fear. “You should not be here. Others can watch over her. You are needed elsewhere.”

“Duty, duty, duty,” Cullen growled bitterly. “Must I be racked on that wheel all my life?”

Silence.

He pushed himself reluctantly to his feet, and turned away from the bed and its occupant. 

A hand on his shoulder. 

“Cullen,” Cassandra said, gently. “You know I’m not talking about duty.”

“No, I don’t know that, so just get to the point.” 

“Kiriya needs your help, too.”

“That’s why I’m here -- ”

“Is this the only way you can help?” 

Cullen growled again and turned away. “I cannot see the path before me, if she is not there to light the way.”

Strangely, the lines in Cassandra’s face softened at his words. “That’s funny,” she said, solemnly. 

“No one is laughing. What are you talking about?”

“The fact that she said something very much the same.”

He looked at Cassandra.

She nodded, once. “We were in the Hinterlands, I think. We needed to rest, we needed to resupply, but the enemies were coming out of every hole in the ground, every turn in the road. She came out of a nest of red lyrium users bleeding and blooded -- she’d gone in alone because I’d broken my arm and Dorian was trying to recover his strength -- and she bound my injuries and exchanged jests with him, and I couldn’t understand how she could keep going.”

He found himself listening, rapt, despite the simmering beneath his skin.

“I hadn’t expected her to smile. She said that you set an example for others, for the Inquisition, and she could do no less than her Commander.”

Cullen could only glance at the sleeping Kiriya, for fear that he’d start weeping. Again.

“Help her. Help us. Leliana thinks you can do something to loosen that serving girl’s tongue. Every little thing helps. And you will be the first person to be informed when she wakes.” Cassandra tried to smile. “She’ll be looking for you. You know this.”

“I hate being helpless,” he whispered, but he knelt at Kiriya’s bedside anyway. Kissed her hand. His mouth left a briefly lighter imprint on her skin, the anger bleeding away.

He felt a little lighter, after. 

“I know.” Cassandra almost looked kind.


	6. 6 - “I’m sorry” kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continues from where the previous chapter left off.
> 
> This chapter and subsequent chapters are set after the story [kith and kin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4958578).

Step by laboring step. Breath by pained breath. Up and up and not knowing where she was heading.

Pins and needles down her nerves, sharp spikes of hurt gnawing on her skin, and a strange weight, holding her down.

What had she done this time?

Why was it so hard to open her eyes this time?

Her eyelids were so heavy. So difficult to lift. She wanted to open her eyes. She wanted to know.

“Urgh,” went a voice, and it took Kiriya several heartbeats to understand that the voice belonged to her. It sounded tired and distant and harsh. 

Pain again, blast it, and this had happened to her far too many times, and Maker, there were no words for how tired she was -- 

Eyes. Open. 

Dark room. Two candles nearby, guttering. Fitful light and the scratch of a pen against parchment. Quiet rumbly humming.

“Varric,” Kiriya tried.

Movement, startled, out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t get up. Bad idea.”

“Why?”

“The antidote they gave you. You’re going to be a little out of it for a while.”

“Antidote?” she croaked.

The sound of water being poured into a cup. When it was offered to her she took several quick sips using the reed that was hanging over the side. Cool and soothing and not enough. “More?”

“Just a little more,” was Varric’s reply.

Kiriya finished the cup for a second time and just barely managed to turn her head. “Antidote,” she said, “you said antidote. I was poisoned?”

“Yeah. The water that was brought to you for tea.”

She closed her eyes and tried to remember and she saw -- fear and worry and shock, emotions crossing Dorian’s face, in the last instant before she was yanked down into darkness. “Oh,” she said, softly. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, that was just about what we all said.”

“How long since -- ” She needed to hear the answer. She didn’t want to.

“Been about three days.”

“Shitshit _shit_.”

The bed creaked, and she turned her head. Varric sat down next to her, offered her an inkstained hand -- she clutched at it and pretended she wasn’t listening to the voices that she was imagining. Voices mocking her, telling her she was weak, telling her she was a fool. 

“Steel.”

She gritted her teeth and looked away.

Again came Varric’s voice. “Steel. Inquisitor. Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Eyes on him again, faintly incredulous. “You call me _Steel_?”

“Yeah. Took me a while to think of it. You’re all kinds of things, you know, and there are all those crummy cliches they’ve forced on you, and -- I had to find a good nickname for you, you know? My reputation’s at stake. Had to think and think and think before I could get to the perfect word.”

“Steel,” Kiriya said, wonderingly.

“Because it’s pretty when it’s polished, you know? Reflects things. Also, there’s the thing where you use it and it’s damned reliable, doesn’t matter what the purpose is, it does the job until it breaks. It gets scratched and bent and stuff. But it’s still good. And melting it down just means there’s a way to make it even stronger.”

“That was almost poetic,” she muttered. “But -- me? I’m not that. Poetic.”

Varric shrugged, and scratched at the edge of one eyebrow. “They’re writing songs about you already.”

“Varric,” she said, trying to chide him.

“Kiriya,” he said, in the exact same tone. “Don’t believe me, fine, I’m just the storyteller, I’ll leave you to think about it. And now that you’re awake and lucid and shit like that I’m off. Someone’s going to take over for me. Don’t try to get out of bed.”

He slipped through the door and the candles guttered again and she needed, needed the strength to get up. Three days wasted. Was Dorian all right? What about her sisters? Had they found the poisoner? She needed to meet Josephine and Leliana and -- 

Steady footsteps, moving towards her, just as she collapsed back down to the sheets. Tears leaking down her cheeks. Frustrated and helpless. She hated feeling helpless. She’d been helpless for such a long time, she’d been trying to get away from that feeling -- and now there was this, and she wished she could turn away from the man who was standing in the door, armored and booted and shuffling not at all quietly -- 

Cullen. He was here. He could see her like this, pinned to the bed, too weak.

Kiriya gritted her teeth and tried to clench her fists -- 

And what did Cullen do but put his arms around her, but raise her carefully off the bed and into a sitting position, but tuck her head just beneath his chin.

She didn’t deserve this.

Helpless. Helpless. Weak and needing. “I’m sorry.” The words slipped out in pain and shame.

“Come again?” Why did he sound so kind? So reasonable?

“I’m sorry,” Kiriya said.

“Did you do something wrong that I’m not aware of?”

“Got poisoned.”

She thought his arms tightened around her, just a little. “You didn’t do that to yourself. Someone did that to you.”

“And I fell for it. The oldest trick in the book.”

Cullen sighed. Shifted on the bed.

Was he going to leave her?

He was peering into her face and there was such love blazing in his eyes that she had to look away or get too close or -- 

So she leaned forward and kissed him, feeling her own parched lips against his stubble and the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“Kiriya.”

“Cullen.”

“I don’t know why you need to apologize. I think, we think, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But if it helps you feel better -- ”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried to pull him nearer.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Cullen said, again.

She closed her eyes, and tried to believe.


	7. 7 - “I’ve missed you” kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and subsequent chapters are set after the story [kith and kin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4958578).

Sharp scent of ice and rain on the wind, and a path ahead that was shadowed by leafless branches reaching into the leaden sky. 

Kiriya huddled into the fur-lined hood of her new cloak: a gift from her sisters. “Don’t think I don’t remember your cold little feet,” Yelena said. Words wrapped in softly warming puffs of breath on the crisp air. “You can’t convince me that you’ve managed to grow out of it.”

“Not when we find you clutching mugs of tea everywhere we go,” Elisavet added.

Kiriya had blushed then, even as she’d drawn each of her sisters into laughing hugs -- and she blushed now, feeling the tangible weight of their presence, their _love_ , wrapped around her shoulders, cutting down on the breezes that sliced at her sides.

And she blushed now, as she looked back over her shoulder one more time. Skyhold long gone. Clear roads and making good time down into the northern foothills of the Frostbacks. 

Laughter behind her. That was always a good omen for a journey.

Down winding hill paths, and it was a larger group than normal that followed her: Iron Bull _and_ his Chargers, after the unexpected offer of an alliance between the Inquisition and the Ben-Hassrath. Too many implications, too many possible futures. She’d have to spend at least one night tossing and turning and thinking on it.

For now, though, Varric seemed to be making himself at home with Krem and the others, and soon enough a raucous song rose from that part of the group -- nothing surprising about it being salacious -- the real surprise was Krem’s excellent singing voice.

Horses cantering in her direction -- Kiriya stopped in the overhang of an apple tree, in the half-mulched leaves and withered grass, and smiled at the two women who were riding up to her.

“I know you have your sources,” Cassandra was saying, a high flush on her cheeks.

“Of course I do,” Leliana replied, and she was not even bothering to hide her smile. “Starved for something good to read, aren’t you?”

Cassandra almost, _almost_ pouted. 

“I’ll do my best, you know I always do,” Leliana said after another moment.

“Then that is all I ask.”

“Lucky for simple pleasures, no?” And then Leliana was getting down from her horse, was stooping to pick a yellow leaf up from the ground. Lace-like pattern of little holes. “And you, Inquisitor?”

Kiriya smiled and shook her head. “Val Royeaux is a pretty place, I’ll grant them that, but the things they sell in their emporiums -- most of it’s a little too, err, _ostentatious_ for me.”

“And ostentatious is what you’ll be needing,” Leliana said, “when we finally head to Halamshiral.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Shoes, Kiriya. At least let me bring back a selection that you can peruse.”

“On one condition: no heels,” Kiriya said, trying to be stern. 

She was expecting Leliana to look disappointed. She hadn’t expected Cassandra to frown. 

“Heeled slippers are for _dancing_ , I know that much,” Cassandra said after a moment.

“And we’d all agreed that wasn’t likely -- I’d do better if I dressed up for a fight,” Kiriya said, hoping she sounded reasonable.

“It’s still a ball.”

Leliana laughed.

Kiriya shook her head. “I’m going on ahead. You go and round the others up. We’re almost out of the foothills.” 

Overhead she thought she saw a glimpse of a wan, faded sun as it peeked through the scudding clouds.

Barely an hour later she stepped back onto the path and held a raised fist up to the others. 

“That smoke’s coming from over the ridge,” Varric said.

“And after the ridge it’s flatlands, all the way to the Waking Sea,” Iron Bull added, and Kiriya watched the shift in his eye as he followed the darkly curling wisp into the gray skies. “Krem,” he said, after a moment.

“On it, Boss,” was the response, and he took off the top half of his armor. “Be right back.”

As Krem disappeared into the trees crowning the top of the ridge, Kiriya leaned against Cassandra’s horse and accepted a bite to eat from Leliana’s saddlebags. “Think it might be trouble?” she asked as she wiped her mouth.

“It could be anything,” Cassandra said, lines pinched around her eyes. “Certainly Orzammar is fortified, and the roads from here are watched -- but nothing can be certain now. Corypheus is only the most immediate threat.”

“I agree,” Leliana said. “And then we also have to take the different countries’ troubles into consideration -- ”

Her next words were cut off by Krem’s return, and surprising news. “Saw a small watch camp,” he said. “And an Inquisition banner. Can’t be too many people -- only had the one fire.”

Kiriya glanced at the women flanking her. “Who have we sent out of Skyhold?”

“I cannot recall,” Cassandra said.

“I might have a suspicion,” Leliana said. “Best to go down and investigate for ourselves. Ride with me?”

“I will,” and Kiriya nodded to Iron Bull, who gave her a thumbs-up and called, “All right, we’re riding out -- guard the Boss!”

Down the meandering path off the ridge, fording a fast-flowing river full of cold ripples, and next to a wide road she could see the Inquisition banner that Krem had spoken of -- closer, and she could see a handful of soldiers, seeming to stay close to a certain tent.

A long harsh bellow from behind her: she glanced over her shoulder, to see Iron Bull blowing a horn -- 

Movement along the trees that shaded the road, and a surprised shout: “Inquisitor?!”

“I know that voice,” Varric called, “that’s one of ours all right -- ”

“What in the Maker’s name is going on here?”

Kiriya vaulted off Leliana’s horse, then, and she couldn’t help the glad cry that tore from her at the sound of that new voice, and she barely knew that she was running headlong down the road, through the fading failing grass -- she had eyes only for the man emerging from the tent. Perhaps his armor was scuffed and perhaps there were leaves clinging to his coat -- but it was Cullen and she hadn’t seen him in nearly a month and she launched herself into his arms -- 

His arms winding tightly around her, his beloved voice whispering into her ear, the familiar warmth of him filling up her senses. Blindly she kissed him, heedless with longing. A whispered “I love you” against his throat.

And maybe the others were laughing, maybe Varric was talking loudly about camping across the road, maybe Cassandra was gushing about romantic reunions -- she heard nothing of it.

All she heard were Cullen’s words.

“I’ve missed you.”


	8. 8 - Seductive kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and subsequent chapters are set after the story [kith and kin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4958578).

Booted footsteps. The graceful arc of arm and blade in the shadows. Soft sounds of pain, none of them in familiar voices. The edge of his sword, glittering in its swift movements. The _drip drip_ of blood onto the flagstones of the Throne Room. 

“Down, please,” and there was a familiar, determined voice in his ear. Cullen knelt and drove his blade into another assailant’s stomach: the resistance of the man’s skin and sinews and then the sudden jolt of the tip of the sword piercing straight through into the air.

He turned his head just in time to see Kiriya swing again, her blades slashing hard at someone’s eyes, blood and something else spurting out into the night.

Footsteps, a snarl: Cullen rose smoothly and kicked the man straight in the throat.

“Not killing him?”

“Better if Leliana had more than one to question,” and he was still moving, and he could feel her shoulders against his back: the two of them moving in a slow circle, watching the shadows with wary hearts.

This was not what he had been expecting for a quiet night in -- but he supposed he couldn’t be surprised. As the reputation of the Inquisition spread, so did the angry whispers, the ignorant fears, the wild rumors.

Movement, coming towards the doors, and he set his feet. Felt rather than heard Kiriya’s growl. Anyone could be coming, friend or foe -- 

Someone spoke a word, and the torches set into the walls all flared into life at once.

“Kiriya. Commander. Is this your idea of -- ahem -- _nighttime activities_?” Dorian asked, his elegant eyebrows drawn into a straight line. 

Cullen just rolled his eyes and bent to check on the man he’d incapacitated. Sharp gasping desperate breaths. He could see, in the torchlight, that the skin around the man’s lips was turning a little blue. Good. 

Clanking, armored footsteps, and: “Kiriya. Sister. You know, I’ve seen you in far, _far_ less than that.”

“All those times you dunked me in my bath, Elisavet.” A soft laugh in response that made Cullen turn and smile. As if he could forget: for now that the heat of the fight had ebbed away he could, again, run appreciative eyes over all of Kiriya’s bared skin. The sleeveless shift that she wore to bed fell just short of her knees, revealing acres of scarred, beautiful skin. Maybe one or two kiss-dark bruises. He had to turn away to hide the sudden flush in his cheeks. 

“Inquisitor,” and that sleep-burred melody could only belong to Leliana. Cullen glanced at the resigned look in her eyes. “Did you leave any alive?”

“Yes,” Kiriya said. “The one Cullen kicked, and this one.”

“You blinded him,” Leliana said, sounding amused.

“A blade across the eyes will do that.”

“I will get to the bottom of this. Messere Trevelyan? May I ask for your assistance?”

Soft sigh. Cullen reached out for Kiriya’s hand. 

“Come see us later,” he heard Elisavet say as she marched after Leliana. 

“I will try to join you for the midday meal,” Kiriya said, and then he was watching her hold a hand out to Dorian. “I _am_ sorry you got yanked out of bed. Again. Is Iron Bull mad?”

“Him? He’s dead to the world. I, on the other hand, am collecting such unsightly white hairs from all these scrapes you get yourself into.”

“Hey,” Cullen said, mostly amused. 

“And you, you’re no better than she is, how many people are out there trying to take a bite out of you?” Dorian sniffed. “And not in the _fun_ way, I might add.”

“Does it matter? There’s a war going on, and several more brewing, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he said, shrugging. 

“Damn it. I hate when you’re right. As though you weren’t already insufferable enough.” The hand that Dorian laid on his shoulder tightened briefly, and Cullen thought he looked worried. “I’d hate to have to lose you. _Either_ of you. You do know you’re my friends. And I don’t have many of those.”

Cullen watched Kiriya draw Dorian into an embrace. “For everything you’ve done and everything you’re still doing -- for being _here_ \-- thank you. Truly. It means a lot to me.”

“As long as we’re all still standing after all of this is over.”

Cullen took Dorian’s hand when it was offered. “You take good care of her, Cullen,” Dorian added. “And let her take care of you.”

And then he was gone, extinguishing the torches as he went -- and once again Cullen had to rely on nothing but cloud-smothered moonlight to see the lines on his beloved’s face.

“I was right, you know,” Kiriya muttered, after a moment. Her arms around his waist, squeezing gently. He held her close and smoothed his hand through her hair. “About things getting worse.”

“At least we could fight these assassins off,” he offered. 

“Easier to deal with than poison. Yes.” Another sigh. “I don’t want to think about washing blood off my skin again.”

“Let’s not,” Cullen murmured. “Come on.”

Out onto the battlements with the winds whistling cruelly over the mountain ridges, and even as he shivered he saw the goosebumps rising on Kiriya’s arms. Clatter of surprise as he hurried her towards his tower: the night patrol’s salutes and wide eyes. “Double guard on my tower tonight,” he said, through chattering teeth. 

A chorus of affirmatives.

The fire had almost burned out in his office -- he could barely see by the light of the banked coals -- but as he moved to lock the doors he could see Kiriya stoking the flames once again. A new log and handfuls of tinder. The relit fire threw wavering light onto the way Kiriya shuffled from foot to foot, rubbing warmth back into her arms.

“Up you go,” Cullen said, quietly, motioning her up to his loft.

He held his hands out to the cheerful blaze for a moment, trying to forget the shock of being surprised in Kiriya’s very rooms, then he climbed the ladder and -- 

“Kiriya,” he said, surprised.

There _was_ blood on her skin, arcing lines of it on her arms and bare legs, but he knew for a fact that none of it was hers -- or even his, for that matter. 

Blood and scars and nothing else but her bare skin, and the shadows of moon and clouds streaming in through the hole in his roof.

“Like I said,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think. I just want -- ”

And Cullen watched, transfixed, as she rose from the foot of his bed and came around to him. Her hands were still cold when she touched his cheeks, but he couldn’t flinch back and he wouldn’t dare -- not when she was kissing him, mouth working hotly against his, soft swipes of her tongue over his bottom lip -- he groaned and opened his mouth to her, drank in her sighs.

Her hands moved down to his shoulders and tugged -- they fell, still kissing, onto the bed. He didn’t let her go, didn’t stop kissing her. He gave himself over to the sweet little sounds that seemed to stop in her throat, the taste of his name on her teeth and on her tongue.

“Clothes,” Kiriya whispered, when they broke apart to catch their breath. She was warm against him now, and he could smell the salt and the sweat of her, the underlying tang of the blood of their enemies.

A moment to pull away. He shed his shirt and fumbled at the loose knots on his breeches. The relief of his bare skin against hers. Her warmth against him, intoxicating. 

“Kiss me,” and he could barely recognize Kiriya’s voice but he desperately wanted to follow -- he pressed kisses to her skin, everywhere he could reach, greedily hoarding her quiet frenzied cries, the breathless little sobs he wrung from her throat. The sweat running down her flanks, the heave of her breasts, the lighter scars and stretch marks stippling the insides of her thighs.

“Kiriya,” he said, reverently, as she opened her legs even wider. Slick and swollen already, the very bud of her peeking out at him, and he licked his lips and went to his knees on the floor. Pulled her closer, even as she scrambled toward him. Hands on her hips, digging in with his fingertips even as she chanted his name, the long low moan that left her as he thrust into her. Her ankles locking in the small of his back. 

Quiet slap of skin against skin. Kiriya’s fingers plucking at her own nipples. The frantic beat of Cullen’s heart, rapidfire counterpoint to the pace of their lovemaking. Closer and closer and he had to hold, had to give Kiriya what she needed, slowly losing himself in the all-encompassing bliss and clench of her -- 

“ _Cullen_ ,” she bit out, at last, and his vision flashed white -- he held out just long enough for her to fall over her edge, and he was glad, desperately glad, to dive after her. The peace of their cooling sweat and their racing hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on [tumblr](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/) and my Dragon Age: Inquisition blog is [here](http://ninemoons42-inquisition.tumblr.com/).


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